


Ouroboros

by Stuffy (AlexKingOfTheDamned)



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Psychological Trauma, Snakes, Stuffing, Vomiting, Vore, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/Stuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinister has a new idea involving snakes. </p><p>Remy has to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is... hella fucked up. 
> 
> But I've been imagining a scenario like this one for about eight years now. So it had to happen.

 

If Remy LeBeau had a dollar for every time he was kidnapped, he’d be a very rich man. Sometimes he thinks he should join some kind of Damsel in Distress group therapy club. He’d have a great time with Princess Peach, Daphne and Olive Oyl, drinking coffee with their cookies and sharing their experiences.

 

It’s gotten to the point that when he opens his eyes in a strange environment, he skips the dramatics of “who are you! where am I!” and goes straight to the snark. It does make it interesting, however, when he opens his eyes in one of these scenarios and he _actually recognizes_ his surroundings.

 

 _Sinister_ , he thinks. He would have said it out loud, but it appears there is some kind of ring gag forcing his mouth open. What this man’s fascination is with repeat-kidnappings he’ll never understand. He would think it would take some of the drama and intrigue out of the event if his victim just rolls their eyes and asks if they might have a pillow, this time.

 

He takes a moment to look around. Same polished floor, same tiled walls and dark-painted ceiling (who Sinister got to paint his ceiling such a charming shade of dark violet he has no idea) same shiny vaulted table he’s strapped to. Nice to see he’s actually wearing clothing this time, though.

 

When the door opens and in walks Sinister, Remy doesn’t even blink. All things considered, this is not the most uncomfortable he’s ever been waking up in Sinister’s den of iniquity. His mouth is a little dry from being forced open, but he’s not exaggerating when he says he’s had worse.

 

“You’re awake,” Sinister says, holding a very large box of some kind. It looks like an ammunition crate, and it must be very heavy given the way he staggers with it. The box gives a mighty CLUNK against the polished floor and secretly Remy hopes it at least left a scratch. If for no other reason than the fact that the most evil man in the world will have to directly ask _somebody_ to buff it out.

 

When Sinister says nothing else, Remy makes a few garbled noises through his gag with a shrug, his tongue flapping uselessly in his spread-open mouth.

 

Sinister remains silent as he opens the crate, and Remy is instantly assaulted by the sound of several snakes hissing. His brows furrow as the villain lifts one ordinary looking snake, replete with brown scales, and watches it coil around his arm.

 

“I have an experiment I’ve been wanting to try,” Sinister explains modestly, stroking the snake’s long body. “And so I figured I might as well get your help. You’ve been such a good assistant to me in the past.”

 

Remy tries to quip a comeback, but he only gargles his own saliva and chokes. His cheeks turn pink when the villain laughs at his distress. The gag shouldn’t surprise Remy. For a man who loves hearing himself talk as much as Sinister, he’s surprised he hasn’t been gagged since their very first encounter. He eyes the snake somewhat suspiciously, but he’s never been afraid of snakes before, so he’s got that in his favor if Sinister thinks he’s going to spook Remy with the serpent.

 

“Did you know,” Sinister goes off again, and Remy rolls his eyes. “Due to the direction of a snake’s belly scales, it’s almost impossible for them to slither backwards? I thought this was just fascinating when I found out. I want to test it.”

 

Remy’s brows furrow deeper. His arm muscles clench when the villain brings the snake closer to his face. No, no, he can’t be doing what Remy thinks he’s doing. The snake’s head is inserted through the ring gag and Remy panics. He crushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but a sharp jab in his side has him gasping with pain, and the instant the barrier is gone, the snake slithers on.

 

There’s really no way to describe the feeling of a live snake squirming down into your belly. Remy chokes and gags and shakes, shaking his head to try and discourage the serpent’s downward journey, but there’s no stopping it. His throat finally clears and he takes a few sore, deep, shuddering breaths. He can feel the snake curling around in his stomach and he’s never been quite so nauseous in his life.

 

“I pumped your stomach before you woke up,” Sinister chuckles at Remy’s pitched, painful panting and open-mouthed whimpers. “Not a drop of acid down there. So they’ll stay alive for a good long time.” He lifts another snake, this one slightly larger than the last one. “Let’s see how many you can fit, shall we?”

 

====

 

Logan growls at the others to hurry up and ignores Storm's attempts at placating him with empty promises that "Remy will be just fine" and "we'll get him back like we always do." They've been through this enough times that he shouldn't worry anymore. He should just roll his eyes, down a beer and head out to track down Remy in whatever lair he's been dragged to this time. Hell, he's been _here_ specifically enough times to know that she's probably right and Remy will be just fine. A little banged up and more of a pain in the ass than usual but just fine.

 

But no matter how many times Remy gets kidnapped Logan never gets used to it. And he knows Kurt doesn't either. The two of them will never stop worrying about their lover, though Kurt is a lot more open about his fears than Logan is. That's why he's never asked to come along on these rescue missions. He's too likely to get carried away. He stays home and prepares for Remy’s return with blankets and dinner and medical attention.

For all of his anger and impatience Logan is at least efficient. And a lot harder to kill.

 

He can smell Remy now as they turn down a hall. He can smell his sweat and the sharp stench of fear and pain wafting off the man that has him breaking into a run and practically ripping the door off it's hinges and throwing it so hard it almost smashes into Rogue who's just a little too close behind him.

 

Sinister is long gone, as he always is. If he didn’t want Remy to be found and rescued, he would have taken him elsewhere. The arrogance of him angers Logan more than anything. But the sight of Remy douses his anger with icy terror.

 

It’s like the floor dropped out from under his feet. There’s a crate open beside Remy on the floor with a few lonely snakes wandering around and trying to climb the walls.

 

On the table Remy’s face is drenched with saliva and sweat and tears, he’s pale as death and shaking like a leaf. His shirt is struggling over his distressingly distended stomach, and Logan can _see_ his skin squirming from the outside through the cloth. It doesn’t take much for him to connect the dots.

 

Remy barely seems lucid. His eyes are half rolled back into his head, he doesn’t appear to be blinking. His skin is clammy and he seems somehow thinner than usual just compared to his swollen and writhing abdomen. Logan can’t see or hear anything, all five of his senses have narrowed down into a tunnel focused only on the dangerously rapid heartbeat of his tormented lover.

 

Logan extends his claws and slashes through the bindings strapping Remy down and lifts the man into his arms. His shifting causes the snakes in his belly some distress and they begin to move faster, slithering more wildly in fright and Remy moans in his arms, going impossibly paler.

 

"It's alright. I got you now, we're going to get you home and fix you up," Logan assures him, cradling the man as gently as he can against his chest. "Just hold on a little bit Remy. Take some deep breaths before you go into shock."

 

The gag is peeled out of his mouth and his jaw sags shut, dripping saliva onto his chest but he doesn’t move to try and wipe it up. He’s hardly coherent, pressing his face into Logan’s chest, his shoulder, his familiar scent. Cigars and beer and sweat and pine, it smells like Logan, like protection.

 

Logan talks to him the whole way back. Listening to his voice keeps Remy sane, despite the intense fear and pain trying to pull him into unconsciousness. He clutches Logan’s shirt and tries to focus on his words, but when that becomes too strenuous he just lets the low buzz of his voice lull him gently back into coherency.

 

By the time they’re closing back in on the mansion he’s more aware, but he wishes he wasn’t. Now he can really feel the snakes slipping over one another in his belly. He can feel the tight cramps and the desperate hiccupping, sobbing gasps shaking the weight of them in his guts.

 

Pain spikes through his body as he’s passed from Logan’s arms into Hank’s, but his lover keeps a grip on his hand as he paces after the doctor, promising him that he’s not going to leave his side. Remy burps and gags at a taste he can’t even identify, something like acid and chemicals.

 

He’s put out on another table, this one padded, but the lights panic him. When Hank tries to force him to lay down, his panic only increases and he starts to thrash.

 

“I might need to sedate him,” Hank tells Logan warily, pinning the distressed Cajun with one passive paw. “If you can’t get him to calm down. We don’t know what else Sinister might have done to him, and I _need_ to examine him.”

 

Logan nods and starts to whisper in Remy in French. It's nothing special, just old nursery rhymes and lullabies to help soothe him, their rhythms gentle as he lifts Remy up into his arms again. This time he climbs onto the table too and sits with his short legs dangling over the edge and lays Remy down with his head in his lap.

 

"He'll be better now. Go ahead doc," Logan says.

 

Remy’s panic subsides as he looks up into Logan’s face. He’s still pale as snow, and breathing much too quickly too be healthy, but he at least feels attached to his own body again.

 

He closes his eyes and tries to shake out the memories. He tries to forget the queasy sensation of live snakes wriggling down his throat. He tries to chase away the feeling of one more snake curling into the already cramped mass of _live animals_ in his stomach. The stabbing, stretching pains, the pains that are still there, reminding him that he has at least 25 snakes writhing around in his stomach. It brings tears to his eyes, wretched tears of fright and pain and misery.

 

The feeling of Hank’s palms on his squirmy belly has him gagging, but it’s pointless. Not a thing comes up. Not surprising, given how sprightly and uncooperative the snakes are.

 

“It’d be too dangerous to risk an operation,” Hank says solemnly after he’s felt Remy’s bulging stomach from end to end. “It’d be best to wait for them to die, and then I can remove them. If I try to remove them now while they’re frightened there’s a good chance he or I could be bitten.”

 

"What if they start biting him now?" Logan asks, gripping Remy's shoulder to try to steady him and stave off a panic attack. "Can't you give him something to make him puke them up or poison the damn things?"

 

“I can’t poison them without poisoning him. And vomiting while they’re still alive won’t be of any use unless they voluntarily move up his throat,” Hank explains grimly. “Vomiting will just clench his stomach muscles around them and panic them further.”

 

"So he's just supposed to wait for them to suffocate? How will you know if they're dead and not just sleeping?" Logan asks, starting to get angry. He doesn't want to have to wait and, more importantly, he doesn't want Remy to have to wait.

 

“My hands are tied, I’m sorry,” Hank sighs and opens his palms defensively. “It’s just not safe to operate. I suggest you take him somewhere quiet and let him rest for a bit. Let him sleep it off. Then in a few hours I can get them out.”

 

"Yeah alright," Logan huffs. He looks down at Remy and tries to make his voice and expression softer. "Hey. Think you'll be alright to move upstairs to bed? Maybe Kurt can come take care of you for a while, what do you think?"

 

Remy doesn’t really respond. He half-mumbles something and sort of nods, but mostly he just leans into Logan, content to be carried anywhere. He’s too tired and too frightened to put any brain power into thinking. He’s too queasy and in too much pain to worry about language skills.

 

The bed is under him in minutes, soft and comforting, and provides him with something to think about other than the squirmy feeling in his guts. He moans and grips the sheets when his over-filled stomach tightens in cramps around the wiggly mass inside him.

 

Kurt is there, petting his hair, and he can hear Logan explaining to him in hushed tones what happened. He drifts in and out of consciousness, the fear and torture from earlier have really tired him out. Kurt lifts his head so he can cross his legs under his head and stroke his hair. When he feels Kurt’s tail slither over his stomach to try and rub away some of the discomfort, it only feels like another snake and he panics.

 

Remy starts to thrash and Logan quickly grabs his hands and barks at Kurt to move his tail. The teleporter responds immediately complies and the two of them work together to hold Remy steady and soothe him as best they can.

 

"I got an idea." Logan says when they finally get Remy to stop flailing. "I'll lean against the wall, Kurt, you lean against me and he can lean on you. You can wrap your tail around my waist so it's out of the way until he falls asleep, alright?"

 

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Remy. He drifts in and out of the shallowest kind of sleep, but a spike of pain will jerk him back into wakefulness until his lover’s hands lull him back into exhaustion.

 

He isn’t breathing right, he’s sweaty, and the next time he wakes up, Kurt is gone again and he’s just leaned against Logan. He can still feel the snakes squirming, he has no idea how long it’s been or why they’re still alive, but he’s had about enough of this shit.

 

Logan is surprised when Remy turns over on his side and rolls off the bed. He sees him staggering in the direction of the bathroom so he doesn’t question it at first and finishes the paragraph of the book he was reading before setting it aside. Then he notices the unopened (and rather large) bottle of whiskey from Remy’s nightstand is missing, and that worries him.

 

“Remy,” he knocks on the door but doesn’t open it yet. He knows Remy’s bathroom door doesn’t have a lock, so he has nothing to be afraid of, but if his condition isn’t serious he can let him have his privacy. “Are you okay in there?”

 

“Drowning,” Remy mumbles.

 

“You’re drowning?” Logan presses his ear to the door.

 

“Drowning them,” Remy says, followed by the sound of some very pained gulping.

 

"Shit," Logan opens the door. Remy is lying on the floor with the nearly empty bottle of whiskey clutched tight in his hand. He must have chugged as much as he could at first and then continued to gulp it down. His stomach is even more distended than before, making him look thinner and frailer.

 

But most worrying is the way the surface of his skin ripples and bulges violently as the distressed snakes inside try to find some route out of their imminent doom. It looks as if they might burst forth like the alien baby in that movie at any second and Logan thinks he might be sick.

 

"You idiot!" he shouts. He grabs the bottle of whiskey away from Remy and barely keeps himself from throwing it at the wall and showering them both with glass. "You could have killed yourself. Or they could bite you and do it for you. Or I might beat them to it."

 

Remy drags himself upright and clutches the toilet, shoving the seat up. He moans and clutches his stomach only long enough to feel the snakes writhe before he grips the toilet instead. He jams two fingers down his throat and gags, and then a thin wave of amber-colored vomit spills out of him. Not a single serpent is washed up with it, even as he gags himself again and again.

 

His throat is scorched by the burning liquid passing through it twice and he keeps accidentally gulping air and burping the foulest of tastes, but the snakes are still resolutely squirming around, if slower now.

 

“Again,” he chokes on his own voice, coughing and spitting into the toilet as he flushes it. He grabs for the bottle. “I want to try again.”

 

"No!" Logan says, snatching it away. "You'll burst something inside you or piss those snakes off so much they'll chew their way out. You're coming with me down to see the doctor. Now."

 

“No!” Remy echoes Logan and snatches his hand away so fast it smashes against the edge of the sink. He clutches at the toilet like he thinks he’d be any match for Logan’s strength and crushes his face into his arm. “Drown them, I have to drown- ” he slurs and burps miserably. “Water, then. Give me water.”

 

Logan rolls his eyes. "You're a fucking idiot aren't you listening to me? You can't drink anymore. Not booze or water or anything. You can't stretch anymore and it'll only piss the snakes off and make them hurt you. You want to be dealing with snake venom and a punctured stomach on top of this?"

 

“Get out,” Remy’s snarl would have had more impact if he didn’t slur. “You’ve not idea what they feel like. I need to drown them _now_. If you ain’t gonna help then leave.”

 

"I'm trying to save your life because I care about you, asshole." Logan snarls. He sets the bottle down out of reach and comes closer to offer Remy a hand. "Let me help you."

 

“NO!” Remy screeches more forcefully when he feels Logan’s hand touch him and he flails at random, accidentally smacking Logan in the throat. His voice is destroyed and he screams like he’s about to die. “I need water _now!_ ”

 

Logan growls and crouches down on the floor in front of Remy. He grabs the other man's shoulders and shakes him. "Shut up! You're not getting any water or anything else got it? You're going to hurt yourself more and I ain't about to stand aside and let that happen. Get a hold of yourself before I start slapping some sense into you!"

 

Remy just screams again and shoves both his hands hard right into Logan’s face to pry him off. He shuffles backwards and presses his back to the cool wall and sobs into his hands, screaming every few seconds in a mixture of emotions he can’t even begin to work through. Disgust, fear, pain, sorrow, more fear, anger, betrayal, and more fear. He’s never been so afraid in his life, and he’s _died_ before.

 

He rocks with his legs buckled to either side of him, moaning and groaning, nauseous and in pain. He tries to gag himself, but nothing else comes up, not even a single snake.

 

This isn't working. Logan can see that he isn't getting through to Remy so he clambers back to his feet. He grabs the bottle and storms out of the bathroom, practically running out of Remy's room all together. He has to find Kurt. If anyone can talk some sense into Remy it'll be their other lover. He's got a more gentle way about him, maybe it'll help.

 

Kurt is down in the basement lab with Hank, where he originally went when he left the pair in the bedroom. He’s been talking for some time about psychological trauma, and what they can do to help if this affects Remy for an extended period. He’s surprised when Logan comes bursting into the laboratory, but he abandons his mug of tea with the other man before following Logan briskly up the stairs.

 

“Drown zhem,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Zhat is worrying.”

 

“Damn right it’s worrying,” Logan mutters, resisting the urge to grab Kurt by the wrist to get him to trot faster.

 

They’re at the bedroom again, Logan was probably gone for a grand total of ten minutes, but they hear the sound of running water. Logan goes pale and rushes ahead, but Kurt beats him by ‘porting into the bathtub.

 

“Calm down,” Kurt snaps when Logan busts into the bathroom with fire on his heels. He’s already holding Remy up from behind, who appeared to have taken matters into his own hands with the sink. His stomach is bulged out again, round and solid from a distressing amount of water, but Kurt just holds him against his chest and soothes him with a hand in his hair.

 

Remy whimpers and shudders. He can _feel_ the snakes slowing down in his belly. The fact that he can literally feel them dying has him choking on tearless sobs, too exhausted for his tear ducts to actually work. Kurt just whispers to him and kisses his cheek, smoothing his hair back out of his face and rubbing at his dangerously distended stomach with his other hand.

 

Logan growls and goes into the bedroom to smash the mirror hanging over the dresser. He would have smashed the one in the bathroom but there's too great a chance he'd hurt one of the others or just scare Remy more. The crunch of glass beneath his fist is satisfying and so is the momentary pain that comes with the shards biting into his flesh. But in the blink of an eye the scratches are gone and the frustration comes back unabated.

 

He goes into the bathroom again where Kurt is still holding Remy and stands awkwardly in the doorway.

 

"I was trying to help," he says, as much to himself and to Kurt as to Remy. He's almost apologizing to Kurt for not being able to protect and comfort Remy the way he was supposed to because he doesn't know what else to do.

 

“Shh, I know you vere,” Kurt whispers, and pats the edge of the bath tub to encourage Logan to sit. He’s rocking Remy gently, kissing his ear and shoulder to keep him from going into hysterics.

 

Kurt offers Logan a small smile and squeezes his hand, but then a loud gurgle shoots through Remy’s stomach and he whines, and Kurt’s attention goes back to him. “Are you ready to try again?” he asks, and Remy only nods.  
  
This time when he forces himself to vomit, the tail of a limp snake comes up his throat. He gags on it and accidentally swallows once on reflex before he flips over onto his knees and tries again.

 

Over the next several minutes, he’s pulling dead snakes out of his own throat. Choking and burping and shaking, he drags the animals out of his own mouth and tosses them aside. He wouldn’t be able to stare down at a toilet full of dead snakes.

 

Logan rubs his back and Kurt holds his hair, but he’s so wrecked he can barely acknowledge either man’s presence. Everything in his life has narrowed down the harrowing experience of pulling snakes out of his throat, sometimes the wrong way so their scales shred his throat. He burps blood and water and passes out a couple times. Kurt prevents him from drowning himself accidentally by falling face-first into the toilet, but even so he doesn’t really register him. He doesn’t really register anything.

 

"I'm gonna find the asshole who did this to him." Logan says when Remy passes out after the eighteenth snake. "Gonna find him and tear him apart for this. All the times he's been taken it's never been this fucked up."

 

“I vish you zhe best of luck,” Kurt mutters with a frown, pulling Remy back against his chest to rest and gestures for Logan to pick him up so they can stand. It’s clear how much his stomach has gone down, barely a bump remaining from the almost dangerous bulge from before. “But nobody has ever been able to stop Sinister.”

 

They get him back down to Hank, who immediately takes him in for surgery. To his surprise he finds only four snakes in Remy’s stomach, but it’s quickly explained to him without words when Logan drops a bucket of dead snakes beside him.

 

With the help of Logan and a special mutant girl from the student body, they’re able to seal Remy up without a scar or a scratch to remind him of his adventure with Sinister.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Kurt asks when Remy is unconscious in recovery.

 

Hank sighs and folds his arms behind his back. “Physically, yes. Emotionally and mentally… he’s going to need to rely on you two for that.”

 

Logan gives a snort of laughter and turns his back on the two of them while Hank goes into more in depth explanations of how they can help Remy, things like medication and getting him into therapy and what to watch out for. That's really more Kurt's area. Logan's already proved today that he's shit at this and it's probably best if he just keeps his distance for a while and let's Kurt handle things.

 

While they talk he goes to sit by Remy's side to watch over him while he sleeps. He seems more comfortable now at least which is good. At least the worst of it is over now.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan has been alive for a long time. He’s had a lot of time to be wrong in his lifetime. He’s been wrong a million times before, and he’ll be wrong a million times yet.

 

But it’s safe to say that he’s never been wronger than he was when he thought Remy would be fine once the snakes were out of his belly. In fact, nobody has ever been wronger in history than he was in that moment.

 

In the days that follow, Remy is an enigma. He never stays in one spot for long, as though he’s afraid if he sits still he’ll become a target and Sinister will get him again. He doesn’t sit near open windows or make eye contact, and if anybody touches him, he flinches like the dickens before he calms down and realizes who it is.

 

He doesn’t sleep in his own room. Which worries Kurt and Logan because he certainly isn’t sleeping with them in Kurt’s room where he got a custom made bed big enough for the three of them, and he hasn’t been in Logan’s room either or he would have smelled him.

 

But then they realize he hasn’t been sleeping. He develops worrying bags under his eyes and looks manic almost, pupils shrunk into pinpricks in magenta irises.

  
He hasn’t been speaking, either. At first it was understandable because he not only drank and subsequently vomited enough whiskey to kill a man, he also had to pull snakes out of his throat. It was assumed by all that his throat was fairly sore.

 

But even as it should have been healing, he still doesn’t speak. He sits absolutely still but completely alert, eyes wide and unfocused but darting all around. He sniffs sometimes like he thinks he can smell someone sneaking up on him, and flinches at the smallest of sounds. Nobody has ever seen Remy such a wreck as he is now.

 

Logan stays as far out of his way as he can. He sees Remy at night sometimes when his own insomnia gets to him. At first he thinks it's nothing, an off sleep schedule, maybe nightmares. Until he realizes Remy is always up and always far from his bedroom. Logan can smell him through the mansion and he knows he hasn't been in his room in a long time.

 

He mentions it to Kurt who shares his worries but doesn't go near Remy. Considering how things went that day in the bathroom and how bad he is with emotional crap he figures its best to watch over the Cajun from afar and let Kurt do the rest for now.

 

But after about a week he starts to notice something else. Remy hasn't been going to meals. And his clothes are starting to look a little looser on him than they should.

 

“Is he eating?” he overhears Kurt talking to Hank in the hall one night and hangs back to listen.

 

“I don’t know,” Hank admits with a shake of his head. “I’ve been bringing him in for regular check-ups, and he’s been losing weight. My best guess is that if he is… he’s not keeping it down. I’ve given him a prescription of protein supplements and vitamins, but how well they work is first dependant on his ability to keep them in his stomach. Have you been getting through to him at all?”

 

“He’s been avoiding me,” Kurt sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think he can sense zhat I vant him to talk about vhat he’s going through, and he doesn’t vant to. So he thinks if he avoids me forever, eventually I’ll forget. It’s very vorrying.”

 

That night in bed after a less than satisfying fuck Logan and Kurt lay side by side, holding each other, both clearly lost in their own thoughts rather than sharing in the sort of pillow talk Logan usually calls "sappy" but they all know he secretly enjoys. His thoughts have been going around in circles when Logan finally breaks the uncomfortable silence.

 

"I'm worried about Remy. And I know you are too," he says, his voice deafening in the quiet room.

 

Kurt sighs and rolls over on top of Logan, crossing his hands on his chest to protect the older man from his deadly chin. “Ja, I am,” he says quietly. “Vhat do you think ve should do? He runs from zhe sight of me, I assume you as vell. Cornering him vouldn’t be zhe best choice considering how traumatized he is.”

 

"He hasn't been avoiding me as far as I can tell. I've been avoiding him," Logan admits, rubbing Kurt's back. "After how shitty I was at helping him I thought I should leave the comforting to you and come back when you thought it was okay. Even thought of taking off for a couple weeks."

 

Kurt sighs and shakes his head, but doesn’t bother scolding Logan. By now he knows he means well. He scoots up higher on the older man’s body and presses his face against his neck. “Ve have to do something. He’s vesting avay. I’m not sure he’s had a single thing to eat since he encounter. His body is cannibalizing itself.”

 

"He's avoiding you cause he doesn't wanna talk right?" Logan says. He waits for Kurt to nod before he goes on. "So maybe you don't talk. Find him and help him out. He trusts you. If you're the one feeding him, just little bits he can easily chew and handle, maybe he'll be able to keep some of it down long enough to digest it."

 

Kurt smiles. “He trusts you too,” he says and kisses the corner of Logan’s jaw, nuzzling into his sideburn. Pushing up on his elbows, he trails kisses down Logan’s nose and across his lips and chin. “But I’ll try,” he whispers, nuzzling the other side of Logan’s neck.

 

Tracking Remy down is not an easy task. He’s like a nervous rabbit, impossible to pin down even with his teleporting abilities. When he finally does have him in one spot, Remy is so panicked about being followed that he can’t talk to him, he has to focus his energies on trying to get him to calm down.

 

By the time he has Remy alone in the kitchen, its nearing midnight and he’s making a cup of tea. Kurt has no doubt that he’s been on an all-liquid diet, but he won’t complain about him consuming _anything_ at this point. He looks like he’s lost at least ten pounds, mostly in his face, neck, shoulders and chest.

 

The first thing Kurt says when he knows Remy has seen him is “Can I touch you?”

 

Remy grips the edge of the counter and swallows hard. “Sure,” he says quietly. Kurt is upon him in an instant, gentle and not crowding, pressing up to him from behind in a tight embrace. Remy feels relaxed and safe for the first time in days as his shoulders sag and he goes boneless in Kurt’s arms. He tips his head back over the taller man’s shoulder and threads a hand through his hair. He feels his panic dwindling, his sense of self rising.

 

Until Kurt’s hand slips from his chest down towards his waist and those walls are back up in a nanosecond. He grabs Kurt’s wrist and grunts something that isn’t a real word, whirling around.

 

“Still squirrely about your stomach?” Kurt says quietly.

 

“I can… feel them,” Remy says quietly.

 

“Feel zhem? You know zhey vere all removed, right? Hank took zhem all out,” Kurt says quietly, relinquishing his desire to feel how much Remy’s belly has caved in for the time being.

 

“I- no, I know,” Remy’s voice shudders. “But I can still _feel_ them. Phantom squirming. Keeps me awake at night, keeps me… I can still feel them.”

 

“They’re gone,” Kurt assures him in a whisper. “I promise, I vatched zhe procedure. All of zhem are gone.”

 

“I know!” Remy shouts and Kurt flinches at the sudden raise in volume. Remy sighs and scrubs at his face. “I’m sorry. I know. I _know_ they gone. _Believe_ me, I know. I been throwing up enough that if there was a single serpent left in there it’d be long gone by now.”

 

“You’ve been making yourself throw up?” Kurt says nervously.

 

Remy just turns his back again.

 

Kurt feels boneless with guilt and anger and fear. He sags into one of the chairs at the counter and hangs his head in his hands. “Have you been eating anything at all?”

 

Remy doesn’t answer.

 

“Have you been taking your pills?”

 

Still no answer.

 

“Remy, you can’t survive on herbal tea, especially not if you just keep throwing it up.”

 

“The doc’s pills… have weird side effects,” Remy mumbles, pouring the hot water into his tea and bobbing his tea bag by the string. “They make me feel bloated.”

 

Kurt shakes his hands through his hair. “Zhat scares you,” he doesn’t pose it like a question because he doesn’t have to.

 

“Scares the daylights out of me,” Remy admits quietly.

 

“Alright,” Kurt says and pads up behind Remy to give his younger lover a kiss on the cheek. “You do vhat you need to do.”

 

The only reason he’s let the subject drop is because he needs to get to Logan pronto and talk about what they can do about this.

 

He finds Logan in the library, looking about two seconds away from trying to climb the shelves to reach a book that's well above his head. He turns when he smells Kurt behind he and smiles a little at the faint traces of Remy clinging to him. They talked, that's good.

 

The smile instantly drops into a frown when he actually looks at Kurt's face and sees his worried expression.

 

"I'm guessing it didn't go well, huh? He being his usual stubborn self?"

 

“It’s a little deeper zhan zhat,” Kurt says tiredly and sits Logan down to explain the whole ordeal to him.

 

Logan listens with a pale face as Kurt explains what essentially means that Remy is slowly and actively starving himself to death. He doesn’t realize until his fingers pop that he’s been digging bloody crescents into his palms.

 

“I assume zhe heaviness of food in his stomach panics him,” Kurt says quietly after the entire confrontation is detailed in a shaking voice. “He’s going to die at zhis rate. It isn’t just a possibility. If ve don’t do something, he is going to die.”

 

"Yeah I get that. So we need to get food into him but I think we're gonna need to do more than that," Logan stands up and starts pacing back and forth in front of Kurt.

 

Finally he stops. "He tried to drown them. That was how he killed the snakes. He drowned them. Think there's something in that we can use?"

 

Kurt massages his temples in slow, tired circles. “You’re going to have to follow up on zhat thought,” he says weakly. “Are you suggesting ve drown Remy because I think ve could come up vith a few ideas zhat are better zhan zhat.”

 

"No! I mean he drowned the snakes. He used liquid to kill them. Maybe he'll be more open to that? Maybe we can get him to drink a couple protein shakes or something?" Logan suggests. He suddenly feels very tired and way out of his depth. "I'm a lot better at stabbing shit than dealing with this crap. If you want to wipe his memory maybe I can help then."

 

“Zhat might not be a bad idea actually,” Kurt mutters. He pats the table to get Logan to sit down again and extends his hands palms-up to invite him to hold them. Logan is grudging, but accepts. “Maybe it’s time for a proper intervention. A _food_ intervention. He says zhat zhe feeling of being bloated terrifies him. Maybe ve need to vork vith him to help him realize zhat having a full meal is nothing to be afraid of. If he’s vith zhe two people he feels safest vith in zhe whole world, zhen he will have no reason to be afraid.”

 

Logan shakes his head and tries to pull his hands back. "No way. This is yours. I brought him home now you do the comforting thing and help him through this bit. When I tried to help him when he was panicking I threatened to slap him silly."

 

“I can’t do it vithout you,” Kurt says. He tightens his grip on Logan’s hands and even though he knows Logan is strong enough to pull back without a struggle, he appreciates the fact that he stops tugging. “He needs you now, Logan. He needs us both. Ve’re a team, you and I, aren’t ve? Ve have to help our cher.”

 

"Don't use French against me you can't even pronounce it right." Logan mutters. He's still pretty sure this is a bad idea but if Kurt thinks it'll help he's willing to try. "Alright fine. But if he slaps me again I'm leaving it in your hands."

 

Kurt leans up across the table and kisses Logan sweetly. “Tomorrow,” he says, licking his lips. “I’ll order takeout, you make our room presentable. Put a fresh pair of sheets on he bed, light a couple candles, vhatever. Ve either save Remy or _he’ll_ die trying. Zhis is our only chance.”

 

The weight of his words are not lost on Logan. The library falls silent and the rest their foreheads together. It’s almost like they’ve already started mourning him if they fail.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan does what Kurt asked. He gets out their best sheets, the softest, prettiest ones they have and makes up the bed as best he can. He goes out and buys candles and some of Remy's favorite flowers because that's about as creatively romantic as he can get right now and he brings them home to set up on the bedside tables and the dresser.

 

By dinner time he's done and the whole thing kind of looks like the set of a bad softcore porno but Remy might appreciate that. At least it's classic and comfortable, enough to remind him of who they are and that they care about him.

 

They leave Remy alone all day while Kurt sets up a table in their bedroom with enough good food to fill the three of them comfortably, but Remy will get first dibs on everything.

 

It’s luring him _into_ the bedroom that’s the hardest part of the night. They don’t want to scare him off by saying “we have gobs of food we want to feed you” but he doesn’t seem to be buying Logan’s explanation that they want to sleep as a group again.

 

Eventually Kurt manages to reel him in with some kind of lover magic, Logan assumes, because Remy has been entirely unmanageable lately. He’s wearing only an oversized sweater that looks honestly large enough to fit Hank, sagged down over one shoulder, and a baggy pair of threadbare pink sweat pants that definitely didn’t originally belong to him.

 

His eyes widen at the sight of the table set out with food, but he can’t take a step back without his back colliding into Logan’s chest.

 

"Yeah nice try. I'm playing bouncer tonight and you're not getting through that door unless there's an emergency," Logan says, smirking down at Remy. He can see the man is uneasy so he tries to offset his bad manners with an affectionate shoulder squeeze. "Calm down, notre cher. We aren't going to let anything bad happen. This is to help you out, right Kurt?"

 

“Ve know you haven’t been eating,” Kurt says gently, extending a hand to the man. “And ve think zhat has partly to do vith zhe fact that you’re afraid to be alone, since you haven’t been spending time vith either of us. So come sit and nibble a little. You don’t have to talk about vhat happened. You don’t have to say a vord. Ve’re just vorried about you.”

 

Remy looks between his two lovers. Even Logan’s eyes are soft and affectionate. He sees the way the bed is made and when he inhales he’s surrounded by lavender and peonies. This is a room he knows, this is where they’ve laughed and fucked and made love. This is where they’ve giggled themselves hoarse all trying to fit into their shower, this is where Logan first said ‘I love you’ to him. This is where he’s safe.

 

He takes a deep breath and lets Kurt lead him to the table.

 

Logan hangs back and watches from near the door as Kurt sits Remy down by the table. They'd been careful in their food choices to make sure everything was easy to break into small bites, had a very distinct flavor and in no way resembled serpents. It'll probably be a long time before Remy wants to go anywhere near spaghetti but that's okay. There's plenty of other choices available.

 

He looks nervous when Kurt puts a bowl of soup in front of him. He licks his lips and stalls, pushing his spoon around the broth. Kurt doesn’t rush him, but doesn’t let him off too easy either. It’s just a simple clam chowder, something familiar with a little spice, so after a moment, Remy takes a bite.

 

The sensation of having something in his mouth makes him gag, and he drops the mouthful of soup instantly back into his bowl.

 

“Zhat’s okay,” Kurt says quickly before Remy can panic, and puts a hand on his knee to keep him calm. “Baby steps.”

 

"Nobody in this room is going to hurt you Remy." Logan assures him from his spot well out of reach. "You take your time and pick what you want to try first. You don't want soup then we have chicken. You can chew it and really get your jaw working again, maybe that'll help. Whatever you want, we've got all night to wait."

 

Remy looks over at him. “Can you stop guarding the door like somebody ‘bout to come in?” he says anxiously. Logan instantly sits at the table, and his willingness to make him feel safer boosts Remy’s confidence.

 

He tries the soup again, regardless of the fact that he spit part of it back into the bowl. If that sort of thing bothered him he would have starved to death a _long_ time ago. He sips the broth experimentally. It’s a little spicy like he likes it, and it’s cooked well. So after a couple bites he gets edgy with veggies and clams.

 

It’s a little frightening, but Logan’s hand is rubbing his back and Kurt’s tail is far and away out of sight. He takes a few real bites when he feels safe, and the sensation of having something in his stomach isn’t as immediately nauseating as it has been for the past week.

 

He manages about half the bowl before pushing it away. Even if the food isn't as scary as it usually is there's only so much he can do at once. Logan offers him a piece of bread to follow, it's fresh and still warm and it's something he can tear apart to relieve some of the building anxiety.

 

The both of them work together to feed him. Just when he thinks he’s done for sure, something new is offered to him by one of them. He eats two pieces of warm, olive oil bread and licks his fingers clean while Kurt finger-feeds him drippy sesame chicken. He accepts fluffy hush puppies from Logan’s fingers, and before he knows it, he’s eating again and he’s not afraid.

 

He leans over and kisses Kurt, his chest blooming with emotion. He knows Kurt organized this, he’s the most thoughtful of the lovers, careful and gentle. But Logan agreed to it, as hard as emotional events are for him to work through, and that’s important too, so he gets the next kiss.

 

Then Kurt is feeding him broccoli and beef with chopsticks, and Logan breaks it up with spicy shrimp. Remy cries a little bit, but nobody says anything about it. Everything is warm and delicious and there’s always at least one hand on him.

 

But then he feels full, and the panic slowly starts to creep in. He tries to ignore it at first, convinces himself that he has to work past it. But Kurt and Logan continue to feed him, spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and squares of fudge and sushi, and he starts to feel more than full, and the panic really sets in.

 

He suddenly whines when he feels his belly gurgle around the meal he’s just consumed, and the sensation almost feels like wriggling. He cries out and doubles over, crushing his eyes shut and trying to force himself to calm down, but it’s not working.

 

Then Logan's hand isn't rubbing his back anymore and instead there are warm strong fingers on his shoulders, urging him to sit up again.

 

"Give me your hand," Logan orders and when Remy does he guides it to the man's belly. He flinches but Logan is firm and he presses his lover's palm against the smooth, unmoving flesh.

 

"Nothing there, alright? There's nothing in there but good food. Enough food that it would have crushed anything that was in there. Nothing's moving, got it?" Logan continues, his voice firm and insistent. "Remy, you listening to me?"

 

Remy nods too fast and makes himself dizzy, rubbing at his face with his other hand. “Nothing’s in there,” he echoes Logan, biting his lips and taking deep, stabilizing breaths through his nose.

 

Kurt regards the two with a warm, fond smile. He loves watching them interact. When they’re rough, when they’re snarky, when they’re gentle. It makes his love for them grow to insurmountable heights.

 

"Nothing. Nothing but good food from fed to you by the two of the biggest idiots in the world who you talked into loving you." Logan says again. He pulls Kurt forward by the back of his neck and kisses his forehead before letting him go. "Want a drink? It'll help."

 

Remy nods desperately. Kurt uncorks a bottle of good wine and Remy drinks graciously, if a bit unceremoniously. Neither of them are going to judge him for gulping it like fruit punch.

 

“You’ve made it to full,” Kurt says, gently proving his point by placing a palm on Remy’s stomach. “Vould you like to go slightly past? I think it vould be good for you. You’re in a safe environment here, if zhere’s ever a time for you to feel safe getting over zhis fear of being distended, it’s now. But it’s up to you.”

 

Remy swallows hard again. The idea of eating enough to make his stomach bloat terrifies him. It never used to. He’d like to get back to when he could eat a heavy dinner and indulge in giggles over the little curve his belly would sport. He would like to get back to the way Kurt would always lavish him with attention when he ate too much lunch, the way he’d grope his full stomach from behind with interest. If he’s ever going to get that back, he has to be comfortable being full.

 

“…Alright,” he says quietly. “Let’s… let’s try it.”

 

"Just a little," Logan clarifies. "We aren't going anywhere near what happened. Probably not even as much as that time you got a little over excited with the gumbo. We're still talking baby steps here."

 

That sounds nice. Little by little. Remy nods again, a little more confident this time. He laughs a little at the memory of the gumbo. It as the first time Storm ever tried making it and she did a spectacular job (even if it could have used a little more spice, in his opinion) and he wound up eating four and a half bowls. He would have had more, but Logan eventually stopped him when his belly brushed the edge of the table.

 

That was a good day. Logan brought him to bed and rubbed his belly until Kurt showed up and lavished him with attention, rubbing his stomach and peppering it with kisses from end to end to end. That was also the first night they ever tried to double-penetrate him, and he nearly passed out from pleasure.

 

In fact, almost all his memories surrounding overeating have been good ones. Barring those few times he wound up throwing up – and given how often he’s thrown up in his lifetime, even those weren’t so bad – it’s almost always been a good thing. He’d like to have that back.

 

So he drops his final defense, grabs his trousers in his hands to keep him from panicking, and allows himself to be fed.

 

They feed him little nibbles, taking turns in what they give him. Rice, shrimp, teriyaki chicken. Kurt had even managed to find a place that sold beignets. They aren't anywhere near as good as what Remy had growing up but there's enough nostalgia wrapped up in them that it doesn't really matter.

 

And soon they're pressing that barrier between full and overful, though it's impossible to tell if his belly is showing any changes under his giant sweatshirt.

 

Remy considers pushing it. His belly feels heavy, but… warm. Not too tight, just a little too full. Gurgly, but it doesn’t panic him as much as it did. It helps that he’s been chewing everything, and he’s been aware of the whole process. He knows everything inside his stomach right now.

 

His cheeks are flushed as he finishes off another fluffy pastry and a smattering of bites from every dish on the table before he asks to stop. He doesn’t want to go too far, he doesn’t want to get into cramping territory. He’s been there more times than he can count, and usually even the cramps are enjoyable, self-satisfying at least. But tonight isn’t the time for that kind of thing. He’s barely comfortable eating to begin with.

 

Logan and Kurt agree immediately and move the food away. Kurt takes Remy by the hand and leads him to the bed. He pulls back the comforter and lays Remy down on the soft sheets in the middle of the bed before sliding under the blankets with him.

 

Logan moves the table out of view and lowers the lights so the soft flicker of the candles is more obvious. Then he puts on some music before joining the other two in bed, laying down on Remy's other side and snuggling close to share his warmth and remind him that he's safe and loved.

 

Remy tears up again, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody’s going to tease him or scold him for crying when he’s so overwhelmed. Kurt’s hand is on his belly, Logan’s is on his chest. Kisses rain down on him from both sides, on his neck and cheeks and his shoulders. Logan lifts his shirt to kiss the tiny swell of his stomach. He even works up the nerve to look down at it.

 

The sight of his round belly doesn’t scare him like he thought it would. He touches it again, feels its smoothness and tightness, and when it gurgles he doesn’t panic. He’s safe here.

 

Kurt draws him into a kiss while Logan worships every square inch of his protruding tummy, from his visible ribcage (Logan makes a note to fix that) to his sharp hip bones. Remy gasps and jumps at the sensitive tickle, but he’s filled with nothing but good sensations.

 

They kiss his neck and cheeks and lips, they kiss over him while still rubbing his belly and they hold him tight when he runs out of tears but is still shaking a little. Remy turns onto his side with his back against Logan's hard chest and Kurt scoots up against his front before throwing an arm around both his lover's waists. Logan follows suit, his arm laying beside Kurt's across them both, holding them all together with Remy safely cocooned between them.

 

“I’m sorry,” Remy whispers. He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, but it seems appropriate to say. Maybe he’s sorry for the grief he caused the both of them. Maybe he’s sorry that they had to resort to this to get him to feel safe.

 

Behind him Logan grunts in response and shakes his head. "Nothing to be sorry for. We're sorry we let things get this bad before helping out." his hand cups the small curve of Remy’s belly, rubbing in slow circles.

 

“You’re safe here,” Kurt whispers. “You’re safe vith us. Ve love you. Don’t ve, Logan?”

 

Logan grunts his response, “Hm,” and kisses the back of Remy’s neck.

 

The tears are back again. This time, for a good reason. Remy curls up small and his lovers envelope him. He feels warm and secure, a thousand snakes could show up right now and he would be safe because they would fight them off. His stomach feels tight and comfortable, with _food_. Good food, fed to him with love.

 

A kiss to his forehead, a kiss to his neck, to his shoulder and his chin and his ears and his lips. The world could be coming to an end outside this very room and he would still feel safe.


End file.
